welcome to the singularity ; sacrosanct secure network

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[Audio -- Private to Kevin Flynn, Encrypted 100%]
oh honey no
a_perfect_end wrote in singularity_rpg
Flynn? Uh.

[The words escape in a pressured, mechanical rush.]

I know I always call you with bad news, and I figured, why break precedent?

Could you, ah, come collect your--your security guard, your boyfriend is kind of. All over my porch. And he won't let me touch him. Locked out at the boot level.

[Darkly] And, obviously, he doesn't know when to quit.

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[The stress, the mechanical distortion running under that familiar voice...Flynn's already moving.]

What. Happened.

[Yes, hurry. Tron's not well, and that's complicating the necessary repairs. He probably won't derezz, but odds are in favor of a hard crash, and Clu can't do a glitching thing about any of it.]

...He'll live. Look, he came over, okay? [This is not Clu's fault. Well, mostly not his fault...Well, about 48.3 bar% his fault. Can you just get here, please?] We--had words. He threatened me. We went a few rounds.

He still doesn't watch for an uppercut on his left. Didn't anticipate him falling on it.

[Nothing from Flynn's end for long seconds but the ding of an elevator. (They never seem to glitch on him.) Then, impossibly calm:]

How much damage, and where?

[An elevator that actually works? The mechanism must have been Zenned into behaving...Not that he reasons from experience, or anything.

He is not that calm, but he can fall into toneless, telegraphic speech when it's called for.]

Mid-chest to the upper torso. Not broad, but it's. [Not gonna wince. Not gonna wince...wincing.] Pretty deep. Read-only suggests mild structural displacement.

[A human would be looking at around a dozen stitches, maybe more.]

Is he still online?

[It would sound like Flynn's discussing the weather, if there were any emotion in his voice at all.]

["Online" might be pushing the description of Tron's state at the moment. He's curled on his side on the ground, barely aware of the reality of events around him, clutching desperately at his discs, which are pulsing sickly, the light dull and fading. The gash at his chest is partially hidden from the way he's curled protectively, and a slow trickle of derezzing pixels still ebbs between his fingers.

He's lost, somewhere between past and present, memories flickering behind his wide-open eyes.]

Don't let him... don't let him...

Edited at 2011-10-13 01:49 am (UTC)

[Diligently not looking not looking not looking now is not the time to glitch up, and this is literally the least he could do to help.]

...Let's call that a solid operative, responsive, and incoherent.

[Online? Yes. Functional? No.]

I see.

[Flynn's voice is nothing short of mechanical, the clipped syllables drained of everything, because the only alternative is panic.]

[Tron can hear voices, Clu's voice overhead, and he curls tighter, defensive, in too much pain and damaged too badly to even get up and run. The only thing he can hope for is that he will derez before he's reprogrammed again...]

Yeah he. Is. He [screamed for] asked for you, please come get him.

[Programs have zero use for slow, deep breaths.]

I'm coming.

[The preternatural composure teleports with him, and then Flynn can just follow the glow in his head.

At a run.]

[Tron can hear running footsteps, hear the voices above him, muffled and jumbled. He tries to focus, tries to bring himself back to the present, but he's lost in the sea, fading and drowning.]

Flynn, I told you...

Flynn... Flynn, go...!

He's here. You're gonna be fine.

[Just. Going to get the glitching fault out of Flynn's way, now. There's not much else he can do.]

[Flynn spares Clu an indecipherable glance in passing before he drops to his knees at Tron's side, pixels crunching beneath his boots and sharp-edged against his shins.]


[The dread underlying Flynn's icy calm is flowing close to the surface now, threatening to sweep everything away, and the hand clutching Tron's shoulder is far more than a diagnostic measure.]

[Tron jerks at the touch, eyes going wide but unfocused, circuits flaring bright as fresh pixels spill from the wound at his chest. His fused discs clutched tightly in one hand, he tries to push away, using the last reserves of his energy to struggle.]

S-stay away! I... I won't... let you... you can't...

[All his efforts manage to do is drain him further, and he collapses forward, the pavement rough and cold against his cheek.]

help Flynn escape don't let Clu touch your disc don't let him in your code don't let him don't let him don't let him

[Understanding strikes, and Flynn hisses between his teeth. There are times for reasoned discussion or cajoling, or even outright threats. This is not one of them. Tron is not going to hand over his discs to someone who sounds exactly like Clu, not with the past looming over them all like this.

With a pointless murmured reassurance, Flynn concentrates on the energy flowing in fits and starts through Tron's damaged systems, rerouting it. Naptime, program, before you derezz yourself without realizing it.]

[Tron gasps, still fighting the shutdown with every line of his code, knowing what will happen if he gives in. Fear and desperation keep him struggling, his arm pushing weakly against Flynn's.]


[In the end, though, it's too much, and he can't fight the overrides of the User. Pain fades into blissful soft black as he goes under, his last processes full of despair.]

Flynn... I failed again...

[A surge of guilt from his benevolent betrayal washes over Flynn, and he closes his eyes for a moment against the despair in Tron's final plea.

Better this than asking Clu to restrain him.

Flynn works the disc out of Tron's slackened grip. This is the easy part--robust, familiar Basic code, meant from the beginning to be edited by a User. The gash sparks and spits in the middle of Alan's methodical programming, and all Flynn has to do is restore order, smoothing the flaws away with the easy precision of experience.]

[He was going to remain absolutely out of the way until and unless he was called for.

If anything went wrong, they would need a perfect record to relay to Alan.

...Somebody ought to watch. So he did.]

[If Flynn's even aware of his audience, he shows no sign. It's quite clear now, in a way it isn't when Flynn's at ease, where Clu gets his intensity.

The gaping flaws melt away as though Flynn's touch alone is enough. It's not, but his deft movements blend into each other as though they've been endlessly rehearsed. He knows Tron's code, and restoring it is no challenge at all.

Fortunately. The damage is bad, enough to derez a program not written to withstand that kind of punishment. Flynn will have the breakdown threatening from the boundaries of his composure later, when no one's life depends on him.]

[It's eerily different, even with Flynn absorbed entirely in the task, face and knuckles white with intent as he works. Clu has nothing to do but watch, tracking gestures smooth with an experience he hadn't had. It's elegant, and terrible, and he can't look away.

And Flynn is stone silent.

You're online. Good. Feeling alright? Just relax--I know. I know, it hurts. That first line's a real doozy. Do as I say, and everything will be fine.

...Stop screaming. He can't
hear you.

So. That's different, too.]

[Twenty years is a long time. Twenty years stretched out on the Grid is an even longer one, and it shows in Flynn now--no hesitation, no backtracking, only a focus that banishes all else into shadow.

Which is why the remaining fragments of an older, clumsier surgery escape his notice. The code he's repaired is now indistinguishable from the day Tron was compiled, but elsewhere, outside the lens of Flynn's scrutiny, the scars remain.]

[Tron fights his way back from the forced downtime, clawing against the webs of black that hold him down.]

it's happening again, you have to stop it, fight it, fight it, make it stop

[Crying out, his eyes flying open, not fully rebooted, he strikes out at the hazy figure in front of him, forcing his body to move through the pain.]

Edited at 2011-10-16 12:10 am (UTC)

[Things Flynn was not expecting: Getting knocked down by the person he'd just put to sleep. With a grunt of surprise and pain, he catches himself on his elbows, Tron's deactivated disc clattering to the street next to him.]

[Tron is fighting blind, his systems not fully online, pain and damaged code clouding his input. Someone is in front of him, this person... this person has his disc, and no, no, he's going to be rewritten, he can't let that happen...!]

I... I won't let you...!

[His voice is mechanical, rasping, all processes diverted into keeping his body moving. Lunging forward, he tackles the shady figure, grasping for the disc he can feel nearby, struggling, striking out. He knows he's weak, knows he's hurt, but if he can just get his disc and escape, he'll be all right...]

Edited at 2011-10-16 01:03 am (UTC)

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